


Snowflake Balls and Bathroom Stalls

by thetbone



Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: And Satan knows he's not getting any at home, Aunt-Niece Relationship, Because I'm obsessed with the way Zelda calls her "Rosalind" in the Solstice episode, Because that poor boy needs some parental love, Because their scene in 1x09 is wonderful, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Pre-Canon, Some Aunts and Harvey, Some Hilda and Susie, Some Zelda and Roz, Zelda Spellman deals with mortals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-09-22 02:51:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17051666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thetbone/pseuds/thetbone
Summary: Zelda and Hilda are forced to chaperone Sabrina’s junior high dance and find themselves faced with one preteen crisis after another.





	1. I assume the worst in everyone. You’re not special.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, lovely readers! I'm anticipating this story will be five chapters. Feel free to leave me a little solstice gift by dropping a review. :) I hope you enjoy!

Sabrina slipped off her red jacket, hanging it on the coat rack in the foyer. Like most December days in Greendale, it was bitingly cold. A light snow had begun to fall early that afternoon, coating the ground in a frosty blanket.

Despite being within the cozy walls of her house, Sabrina shivered slightly. The only part of her body that wasn’t longing for warmth was her right hand—the one Harvey had been holding. He had insisted on walking her home for the past month, and though his excuse was that by the time her art club meetings were over it was already dark outside and he didn’t want her to be alone, Sabrina knew that it had more to do with him wanting to spend more time with her. The thought made her insides start to warm as well.

“Hi, aunties. Hi, Ambrose,” Sabrina greeted, making her way into the kitchen.

“Hello, love!” Hilda exclaimed, abandoning her post at the stove to give her a hug. “How was school?”

“It was fine,” Sabrina replied, returning her embrace. “Lots of review before finals.”

“Sweet Satan,” Hilda said, placing a hand on her cheek in concern. “You’re freezing.”

“And when it’s hardly chilly out. The mortal blood in you, no doubt. Always so fragile,” Zelda remarked from the counter, wielding an oversized knife. She punctuated her distaste with a violent chop.

“Thankfully the stew’s almost done,” Hilda said, rubbing Sabrina’s arms and guiding her to the kitchen table. “It’ll warm you right up. Lucifer, even the tips of your ears are red. Did you wear the hat I knitted you?”

Sabrina winced.

“I’m going to go out on a limb and say, ‘No,’” Ambrose said without looking up from the book he was reading.

Sabrina glared at him. “It messes up my curls.”

Hilda sympathetically smoothed her blonde locks. “I understand, but-”

“It’s not an option, Sabrina,” Zelda said, gracefully sliding the tray of bread onto the table. “I will not allow something as foolish as the threat of a bad hair day jeopardize your health. Flu, frostbite, pneumonia, smallpox—all things that can fatally compromise the human immune system.”

“To be fair, there’s a vaccine for smallpox now,” Sabrina replied. “And cold weather has nothing to do with catching it. We just learned that in biology.”

“That may be,” Zelda replied, plucking the soup from the stove. “But there’s also a pair of scissors in the drawer over there, and unless you do as I say, you’ll soon learn that I can make it so you’ll never have to worry about a bad hair day again. How about that?”

“Zelda,” Hilda gasped.

Sabrina sighed. Zelda had a tendency to speak in hyperbole and make grand proclamations of which she had no intention of following through. It was an empty threat...probably. “Fine,” Sabrina relented anyway. “I’ll wear the hat.”

“Glad we understand each other,” Zelda said with an air of smugness, plopping the pot of stew onto a trivet. “Now, let’s eat.”

The four of them sat in their respective seats, scooping the piping hot soup into their bowls. Zelda tore a piece of bread, about to pop it into her mouth when the phone rang. She clenched her jaw, pressing down on the crust in irritation until it collapsed into a pile of crumbs on her plate. She placed her palms on the table, about to heave herself up.

“I’ll get it,” Hilda said, beating her to the punch.

Zelda lowered herself back into her seat. “Be professional, sister. Remember, this is a business—not a slumber party. We run a morgue—not a hair salon.”

“Unless Sabrina doesn’t wear a hat,” Ambrose teased.

Zelda pointed at him with her spoon. “Exactly.”

“You wouldn’t actually do that,” Sabrina said, the tiniest twinge of uncertainty present.

Zelda raised an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t I?”

“You wouldn’t,” she said confidently. “I mean...right?”

“Your Aunt Hilda said the same thing about me killing her,” Zelda shrugged, spooning some soup into her mouth. “Just something to keep in mind.”

“Spellman Mortuary, this is Hilda speaking,” Hilda greeted, picking up the receiver. “Sorry, could you repeat your name again? I didn’t quite catch that.” Zelda shook her head, loudly sighing at Hilda’s incompetence. “Hawthorne, thank you...from Baxter High? Oh, Sabrina’s principal! Of course.”

Sabrina’s eyes widened, and she choked on the food in her mouth. Zelda shot her an admonishing look.

“What did you do?” she asked harshly.

Sabrina coughed, finally managing to swallow the bread she was chewing. “Nothing, Aunt Zee! I swear!”

“Is something wrong?” Hilda continued. “I see. Hm. I see.”

“Housecalls from the principal? Doesn’t sound like nothing, cousin,” Ambrose said, egging her on.

Sabrina gritted her teeth. “Why is my pain entertaining to you?” she whispered.

“I haven’t left this house in a century. It doesn’t take much,” Ambrose whispered back.

“You’re not to see that Kinkle boy anymore,” Zelda proclaimed.

Sabrina shifted her dumbfounded look from Ambrose to Zelda. “Why?!”

“Evidently he's been a bad influence," she said, thrusting her arm out, gesturing to Hilda. 

“Harvey is not a bad guy, Auntie Zee. Far from it. I mean, the other day at lunch he gave an ant one of his Cheetos because he thought it looked hungry.”

“Absolutely,” Hilda nodded. “Yes. Thank you for calling,” she said, hanging up the phone. The three at the table stared at her, anticipating.

“Well?” Zelda prompted impatiently. “Do get on with it.”

“Am I in trouble?” Sabrina asked meekly.

“No, darling,” Hilda assured her, retaking her seat. “You’re not in any trouble.”

Sabrina’s shoulders relaxed for a moment before she grew indignant once again. “See!” she told Zelda sticking out her palm. “I told you. Why do you always assume the worst in me?”

Zelda rolled her eyes at the dramatics. “Sabrina, I assume the worst in everyone. You’re not special.” She turned her attention back to Hilda. “If Sabrina’s not in trouble, then why is that _man_ ," she spat, “interrupting our dinner?”

“Because Sabrina’s not in trouble, but...er—well, it seems  _we_ are,” Hilda replied cautiously.

“Oh, plot twist,” Ambrose sing-songed. “This is better than a soap opera.”

Zelda harshly clamped her fingertips together, motioning him for him to shut up. “What do you mean? That’s preposterous.”

“Apparently, Baxter High requires guardians to volunteer at least four hours each to the school community every semester. A way of keeping everyone involved, you see?”

Zelda rubbed her temples, profoundly unimpressed with the whole ordeal. “And how many do we have so far? Are we at least close?”

“Well, if both of us do two we’ll be halfway there!” Hilda said peppily.

“So zero,” Zelda looked at her blankly. “You’re saying we have zero.”

Hilda’s face fell and she grimaced. “Yes. I suppose that’s another way of looking at it.”

“Is there any way you can make it up?” Sabrina inquired.

“There is,” Hilda said slowly. “Principal Hawthorne was saying there’s one more event they need volunteers for before the end of the year. It’d get each of us the required four hours.”

“Well, that’s perfect! Problem solved,” Sabrina beamed

“What’s the event?” Zelda asked, notably less enthused.

Hilda pursed her lips. “The Snowflake Ball.”

“The what?” Zelda asked, twisting her face up in disgust.

Sabrina’s face fell. “The junior high dance?”

“Indeed,” Hilda said, wincing at Sabrina’s reaction.

Sabrina gulped. “What do you have to do? Just buy punch or-?”

“Chaperone. We’d have to chaperone it, love.”

“Oh,” Sabrina nodded. “I see.”

The three looked over to Zelda, who was wearing an unreadable expression. After a moment, she smoothed the tablecloth. “Well, she was going to have to drop out sooner or later.” She raised her glass, taking a sip of wine.

“What? No, I’m not leaving Baxter High yet!”

Zelda sat the cup down. “Sabrina, think of this as a blessing in disguise. An unholy sign to rip the band-aid off, so to speak. Better to cut ties early.”

“But I still have three more years of seeing my friends. You promised. Please.” Sabrina pleadingly looked over to her other, more easily persuaded aunt. “Please, Aunt Hilda.”

Hilda let out a breath before glancing over at her sister. “Zelds, it’s one night,” she said gently. “And you used to love dances at the Academy.”

“Keyword: Academy—not some repulsive public school gym. And that was centuries ago.”

“Please, Aunt Zee,” Sabrina begged, folding her hands. “It’s all I want for Solstice.”

Zelda stared at her. Her eyes were wide, genuine. Her mouth was curved into an earnest frown. How could she say no to that? “Fine,” she relented, raising a warning finger. “But know I’ll be watching you and the Kinkle boy all night long.”

Thank you,” Sabrina smiled, hopping up and throwing her arms around Zelda. Zelda patted her head, already regretting her decision.

Sabrina returned to her seat, the meal progressing in relative silence.

“It is odd, though,” Hilda said after a moment, tapping her chin with a hot pink fingernail. “I could have sworn I sent some cookies for a bake sale a while back. Thought that would be worth at least an hour or two.”

“When did you make cookies?” Sabrina asked.

“It must have been about a month ago,” she racked her brain. “They were pumpkin chocolate chip if I recall. Yes, they were in the shape of jack-o-lanterns,” she remembered. “For some Halloween event or another.”

Sabrina wrinkled an eyebrow. “I don’t remember that.”

Ambrose rubbed the back of his neck. “I...may or may not have eaten those.”

“You what?” Zelda asked, her voice dangerously low.

Ambrose threw his hands up. “I didn’t know what they were for!”

Hilda looked at him in confusion. “But they had a note, love.”

“It wasn’t clear.”

“It said, ‘Sabrina, please take these to school for the bake sale,’” Hilda recited.

Ambrose pressed his lips together. “Okay, I did know,” she said after a beat. “But they were my favorite!”

“They’re my favorite, too, which is why is probably why she made them for me to bring,” Sabrina sulked, crossing her arms.

“Why didn’t you just take _one_ , darling?” Hilda inquired.

“Because you can’t stop after just one!” Ambrose defended himself. “They’re addictive.”

Ambrose looked over at Zelda, who was casting a seething glare in his direction. He cowered away. “This seems like a rather extreme reaction to some petty baked good theft.”

Finally, Zelda unclenched the spoon from her hand, dropping it in her bowl with a _cling_. “You’re grounded,” she told him.

Ambrose looked at the ceiling. “What’s new?”

“Oh no, nephew,” Zelda replied, getting up and carrying her bowl to the sink. “Not just cushy Satanic housebound— _my_ grounded. If I have to be confined to the Baxter High gym for a night, you get to be confined to your room for two. Starting tonight. Go.”

Ambrose glanced around at Hilda and Sabrina. Hilda was wearing an apologetic look while Sabrina’s was rather self-righteous—payback for earlier, no doubt. It was clear neither was going to come to his rescue against Zelda’s irrationally brazen demand. “But-”

“Now,” Zelda said, pointing to the stairs.

“I haven’t even finished my dinner.”

“I’m surprised you’re still hungry after eating all those cookies,” Zelda snapped back.

Ambrose sighed, looking longingly at the remaining soup. “This is excessive,” he said, reluctantly standing up. 

“Your actions have forced me to chaperone a horde of prepubescent children,” Zelda said as he walked up the stairs. “You should consider yourself lucky that I’m sending you above ground instead of below it.”

 


	2. To Make a Home in One of Those Safe Little Boxes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harvey makes a less-than-impressive impression on Zelda, and Hilda counsels Susie through a problem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to @velmakellys and @auntzeldashair on Twitter for giving me the idea to include the small flashback of tiny Sabrina playing dress up! Too cute not to slip in. I’ve decided to use they/them to refer to Susie in this chapter, as they haven’t clarified pronouns yet and they seem most appropriate. Bright Solstice, Merry Christmas, and Happy Holidays, everyone! :)

Hilda walked into the Baxter High gym, a knot in her stomach. The sight of balloons and streamers immediately made her nauseous, giving her flashbacks to her own days at the Academy. She had never been popular, her earnestness and clumsiness resigning her firmly to the reluctant class clown category.

She’d never say it, but it was a little insulting how much Zelda dared complain. She wasn’t the one whose dress had caught on hellfire at the Gallows Gala—she had been the one to summon the flames.

At least Sabrina looked happy. Mature, too. It was a far cry from when she was six and had ransacked her and Zelda’s closet. They had been preparing for a particularly grueling funeral, and Sabrina had taken the opportunity to sneak in and throw on Zelda’s cheetah print coat and heap globs of Hilda’s patent blue eyeshadow all over her face. Afterward, once she had managed to waddle down the stairs in Zelda’s oversized heels, Zelda had lectured her about respecting other witches’ property as well as the proper care for rare animal furs, but Hilda had to suppress a giggle, snapping a sneaky picture of Sabrina in all her ridiculous, adorable glory.

Though this time Sabrina was actually capable of doing her own makeup, she had asked Hilda to do the honors. Hilda had eagerly agreed, brushing some silver on her lids and lengthening her already long lashes with a bit of mascara. Her niece was stunning—Hilda’s handiwork bringing out the sparkle in her eyes and complementing the powder blue of her poofy dress.

All through the miniature makeover, Sabrina had voiced her anxieties about the Kinkle boy. “But what if I say the wrong thing, Aunt Hilda?” she’d fretted. “What if I trip?”

Hilda hid her smile. Zelda loathed the fact that Sabrina was finally at an age where she was starting to notice boys, dreading all the drama and insecurity that came with it. The fact that it was a mortal that had caught Sabrina’s eye certainly didn’t help matters. Hilda, on the other hand, thought it was sweet and innocent enough, relishing the opportunity to be there for Sabrina’s milestones.

Hilda loved her sister dearly, but Zelda was never one to gab about romance, particularly the sentimental parts. Sabrina was like Zelda in a lot of ways, but she had always been softer, more like Hilda, in matters of the heart. Hilda welcomed the chance to bond with her niece over first kisses and lip gloss.

“That Kinkle boy is the luckiest lad in Greendale,” Hilda told Sabrina, lifting her thumb from the curling iron, putting another perfect ringlet into Sabrina’s hair. “The luckiest lad in the world, dear. The night is going to be splendid. Just splendid,” she assured her.

It was clear from the moment Harvey spied Sabrina across the gym that Hilda had been right—Harvey felt like the luckiest lad in the world. The boy was positively smitten, a goofy grin plastered on his face.

“‘Brina,” he said breathlessly, a hand behind his back. “You look amazing.”

Sabrina returned his smile. “You too,” she said. Harvey’s tie wasn’t on perfectly straight, and there were a few hairs sticking up on his head, but either Sabrina didn’t notice or she didn’t care. She wrapped her arms around him, only pulling away when Zelda cleared her throat disapprovingly.

“I almost forgot,” he said, moving his hand from behind his back to reveal several slightly-wilted flowers. “Mrs. Spellman, these are for you,” he said, handing a few to Hilda. “And...other Mrs. Spellman, these are for you,” he continued, handing another bouquet to Zelda. “Sabrina, these are yours,” he ended, handing the remainders to his date.

“ _Miss_ Spellman,” Zelda corrected him harshly, holding the stem between the tips of her pointer finger and thumb.

“Right,” Harvey corrected, face flushing red. “Sorry.”

“That’s so thoughtful of you,” Hilda thanked him, shooting him a reassuring smile.

Harvey smoothed out his shirt, little pockets of sweat from his hands embedding themselves into the white fabric. “I picked them themself.”

“From beneath a ditch?” Zelda muttered.

“We’re going to go dance now,” Sabrina announced, seeing that their relatively polite interaction could quickly become anything but.

“All right, darlings. You two have fun,” Hilda said, flashing Sabrina a wink once Harvey had turned around.

“Leave enough room for the spirit of the Dark Lord,” Zelda commanded, raising an eyebrow.

“Always, Aunt Zee,” Sabrina nodded, rolling her eyes and taking Harvey’s hand, leading him to the dance floor.

“I’m going to go put my flowers in the car. Would you like me to take yours?” Hilda asked.

Zelda thrust her hand in Hilda’s direction without taking her eyes off Sabrina and Harvey. “I’d prefer you put mine in an incinerator.”

Hilda let out a frustrated breath. “He seems like a fine boy. Honestly, I don’t understand why you’re so nasty to him.”

Zelda snapped her glance over to Hilda. “Because he’s just that, Hilda. A _boy_ ,” she seethed. “What if Sabrina starts caring for him? Thinks she’s in love with him? We all saw what happened to Edward after he married Diana. The way the coven treated him. She’s already a half-breed, which will make it infinitely worse, no doubt.”

“Sabrina’s thirteen, Zelds,” Hilda chuckled. “It’s a schoolgirl crush. I don’t think you have to worry about marriage yet.”

Zelda lifted her gaze back up to spy on the two, not assuaged by Hilda’s assurance. “Let’s hope you’re right, sister. Let’s hope you’re right.”

Seeing that she wasn’t going to change Zelda’s mind—then again, when had she ever been able to do that?—she took the flowers and headed out to the parking lot. Hilda walked through the double doors, finding the fresh, chilly air a solace from the heat of the packed gym. She was about halfway to her vehicle when she heard what sounded like a small howl coming from behind her. Crinkling an eyebrow, she turned around to investigate.

“Hello?” she called out. “Who’s there?”

Hilda slowly tiptoed back towards the building. There was no response—just a continuation of the pained cries.

“Hello?” she called again. She was pretty confident the sound was coming from behind the dumpster. She snuck around the large object, spontaneously holding the flowers up like a weapon in case she were to encounter a wounded, rabid animal.

Hilda immediately lowered her striking hand and tilted her head upon seeing a small figure crouched against the wall, head of short brunette hair between its knees.

“Susie?” Hilda asked.

The figure popped their head up. Sure enough, it was Sabrina’s friend, a huddled mess on the ground. Susie immediately began wiping their tear-stained face, clearly not expecting they would be caught in their impromptu hideout.

“What are you doing out here, sweet? Did you fall? Are you hurt?” Hilda crouched down, immediately inspecting Susie’s appendages for any signs of injury.

“No, I’m not hurt,” Susie assured her, scooting away from her touch. “I just—I’m sorry. I think I’m gonna go home.” Susie lifted themself off the ground, wiping the dirt from their dress.

“Home?” Hilda inquired, standing up as well. “But the dance just started. Don’t you want to go be with your friends? I know Sabrina was looking forward to having you there.”

Susie bit their lip, tears welling up in their eyes again. “I can’t,” they whispered. “I can’t go in there. Not like this.”

Hilda looked at them sympathetically. The dress was red with sequins and fringe on the bottom—reminiscent of the flapper style of the 20s. “You look lovely, darling,” she said, smoothing out the sequins.

“But I don’t  _feel_ lovely,” Susie argued, sliding down the brick wall to sit on the ground again. “I feel ridiculous. Like I’m pretending to be someone I’m not.” They placed their head in their hands. “You probably think I sound crazy.”

Hilda sat next to them, reaching out to squeeze their shoulder. “I don’t think you sound crazy,” she said quietly. “Quite the contrary, in fact.”

Susie took a deep breath, finding the courage to continue. “I just don’t...feel like  _me_ in dresses. I wish I did. I wish I could get excited about them like all the other girls in my class, but I just...”

“Can’t.,” Hilda finished.

“But it’s more than just dresses. I think…” Susie said slowly. “I think there’s something else that makes me different.”

“Want to know a secret?” Hilda whispered, conspiratorial. Susie looked at her, hanging on her every word. “The things that make you different,” she continued, “those are your strengths. They may seem like weaknesses, but they’re not—they’re your superpowers. Even if it doesn’t feel like it.”

Susie managed a small smile, but it didn’t quite reach their eyes. “I wanted to wear a suit,” they admitted, fidgeting with a small pebble on the ground. “I had it all picked out. I was prepared to ask my dad and everything. But then some kids at school started spreading rumors about me, calling me names. I knew that if I did it would only get worse so I chickened out.” They shook their head. “But now...now I wish I hadn’t. No feeling could be worse than this—forcing myself to be who I’m not.”

Hilda nodded sympathetically. “I got bullied, too,” she said. “All throughout school. I may not know exactly what you’re going through, but I do know that children can be cruel.” Hilda thought back to the multitude of times Zelda had killed her as an adult, the abuse she doled out near constantly. She amended, “The _world_ can be cruel.”

Hilda continued, “The world is often threatened by things it doesn’t understand—intimidated by those who can’t be put into boxes. It’s hard to resist the urge to make a home in one of those safe little boxes—difficult not to crawl up inside one and cower. But nobody has ever changed the world by compromising who they are. I have a feeling you aren’t one to hide away, and that, my darling, is what makes someone truly beautiful.”

Susie smiled again, this time a little bigger, a little more sincere. “Thank you, Ms. Spellman,” they said genuinely. “For the pep talk and for just...listening.”

Hilda patted their shoulder, lifting herself off the ground. “You know, I have a suit in my car,” she told Susie. “One of Ambrose’s hand-me-downs I was planning to donate. The pants may be a bit long, the jacket a bit big. You’re welcome to it if you’d like to change. But only if you’d like to—feel no obligation.”

“Really?” Susie asked, following suit and standing as well.

“Of course,” Hilda replied. “I’ll go get it. Now get on inside and wait in the hall—it’s freezing out here,” she commanded gently, ushering them through the doors.

Susie obeyed, practically skipping into the building.

Hilda smoothed down her shirt and walked to the car, placing the flowers in the front seat before going back and opening the trunk. She looked behind her, surveying the parking lot. Feeling confident there were no eavesdropping bystanders, she did a quick conjuration spell. Sure enough, a perfectly-pressed suit appeared—one she was sure would fit Susie like a charm.


	3. An Easy Way to Just...Forget

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zelda is forced to confront two key people in Sabrina's life: her biggest enemy and her best friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone's holidays are going wonderfully! Thank you for all of your kind reviews—they truly make my day. I so appreciate the love and feedback.
> 
> *There's a brief reference to a character from my other fic "Blood and Teacups" in this chapter, but you definitely don't have to have read that one first to understand this. Just a fun little Easter egg. ;)

Zelda Spellman crossed her arms and leaned against the gymnasium wall, propping a heel onto the chipped paint. As promised, she hadn’t taken her eyes off Sabrina all night. Although she still resented ever being roped into this nonsense, she could privately admit that there was one small perk to the entire ordeal: making sure firsthand that the Kinkle boy didn’t try any funny business with Sabrina.

Sabrina could do what she liked once she signed her name in the _Book of the Beast_ _—_ Zelda was no prude, after all, having many a tryst back in her day and the occasional one in the present—but it was crucial she remain pure until her Dark Baptism. And when that time came, pray Lucifer that she would choose a more suitable suitor than the very unimpressive, very mortal one she was heaven-bent on being with now.

Yes, she could find the small silver lining, but that didn’t make the actual act of spying any less excruciating. Watching Sabrina and the Kinkle boy stumble over incessant pop music was far from riveting. In fact, the whole crowd was entirely unimpressive in that respect.

Zelda longed for the days of the waltz and the tango—sophisticated dances that took skill and precision. Where had the symphonies gone? The operas? When had practiced, elegant movement been so unanimously replaced by arrhythmic jumping, hindquarter shaking, and songs about getting money, buying drugs, or getting money to buy drugs? It was horrifying.

The longer she was forced to endure it, the more her body started to twitch. She reached inside her purse, pulling out a cigarette and taking a drag. The sweet relief lasted only a second, a preteen boy making fart noises under his tux sending her spiraling once again. Curse Sabrina and her persuasive charm, and curse Ambrose and his gluttonous appetite. Why had she agreed to take on children again?

And where in Satan’s name was Hilda? She had disappeared ages ago with the inane flowers. Zelda would torment anyone who dared say it aloud, but she missed her sister in situations like these. She  _needed_ a familiar face to help her navigate these waters. She could command any room in the satanic realm, confident in every Church of Night setting, but when it came to mortal activities, she was far outside her comfort zone.

“Excuse me,” said a mousy voice. Zelda felt a light tapping on her shoulder “You can’t smoke in here.”

Zelda looked at the woman beside her—a meek creature with bright blue eyes and thick, dark hair. “And you are…?” she asked, lifting the cigarette to her lips once again.

“Mary Wardwell,” the woman responded. “I teach sophomore English.”

Zelda gritted her teeth. She couldn’t exactly tell one of Sabrina’s future teachers to shove it—not if she wanted to remain on speaking terms with her niece. For some reason she couldn’t grasp, Sabrina actually liked this place. Explaining that cigarettes didn’t affect immortals in quite the same way was out of the question, and performing a mind-erasing spell on the woman seemed like quite a lot of trouble for something so small.

“Very well,” Zelda replied, stubbing out the cigarette on the brick behind her, leaving a small circle of ash. “Sincerest apologies,” she said emotionlessly, standing up straight and tossing the object into a trash can overflowing with discarded punch cups.

Zelda zeroed in on Sabrina and the Kinkle boy once again, seeing that their status hadn’t changed since her tiff with the Baxter High educator. Confident the two would remain swaying and laughing for the foreseeable future, Zelda decided to venture into the hall. She was still in desperate need of a cigarette, but she’d have rather summoned crows to claw at her eyes than have gone outside and risked giving Hilda the impression she was looking for her. Instead, she went to the place she used to practice unauthorized magic during her days at the academy: the bathroom.

As Zelda walked inside, the sound of giggles grated against her ears. The smell of prepubescent sweat and drugstore cologne was traded for cheap alcohol immediately burning her nose. She saw a group of five girls huddled around a sink, one of them chugging something from a large glass bottle.

Oh _heaven_ no. She did not sign up for this.

Zelda slammed the door behind her, demanding their attention. It worked like a charm, all of them looking up at her with wide, fear-filled eyes. The girl who had been drinking choked, coughing hard.

“What in Satan’s name is happening in here?” Zelda asked through gritted teeth.

“We were just talking,” said one of the girls.

“Must have been quite the lively chat thanks to this conversation starter,” Zelda said, stepping towards them and grabbing the bottle in one swift movement. She took a quick survey of who she was dealing with. Four of them were practically identical: all blonde, all wearing ill-fitting orange dresses and clashing pink eyeshadow. But the one on the far left was different. Her dress was navy, and she had on glasses. For some reason, she looked familiar to Zelda.

Why would she recognize a simple mortal girl? Had she attended a funeral? Did she work at one of the Greendale shops Zelda ventured to once in a full moon?

It suddenly hit her. It was the Walker girl. Sabrina’s friend. Zelda locked eyes with her, and she promptly dropped her gaze. Zelda bit her tongue, turning her attention back to the ringleader. One thing at a time.

Their supposed leader was a pathetic sight, really. Her makeup was smudged, her eyes having watered thanks to the big gulp of alcohol, and her aggressively neon lipstick was smeared across her face.

Zelda squinted, having yet another epiphany. She knew this girl, too.

“Gertrude,” she said, shooting the preteen a seething gaze.

She wrapped her bare arms around herself in response. “W-what?”

“You are Gertrude, correct?”

“I-”

“Speak, girl,” Zelda demanded. The other four in the group flinched.

The girl took a deep breath before straightening her posture. “Yes,” she affirmed, shrugging. “I’m Gertie.”

“You’re the wicked little creature who torments my niece.”

“Who-?”

“Sabrina. Spellman,” Zelda said slowly.

Gertie Miller had inexplicably had it out for Sabrina since kindergarten. When they were young, she had left Sabrina out of birthday parties and kickball games, telling people she smelled bad because she lived above a morgue. Recently, she’d started spreading rumors that she stuffed her bra and that her parents had taken their ill-fated trip to Italy in order to get away from her.

Although Sabrina’s skin had grown thicker since she was small, Zelda could tell that deep down Gertie’s cruelty still ate away at her. Though Zelda had seen her only once in person—the result of a mother/daughter tea party she got dragged along to when Sabrina was in first grade—her face was forever etched into her mind as public enemy #1.

A look of panicked realization crossed Gertie’s face. Though it was present only for an instant, it was enough to confirm Zelda’s suspicions. “No, I never-”

“Did you detect a question mark at the end of that sentence?” Zelda harshly cut her off. “I’m incensed you would have the gall to lie to my face. Only cowards refuse to take ownership of their actions.”

Gertrude bit her lip, weighing her options. “Please,” she finally said, resorting to begging. “Please don’t tell Principal Hawthorne.”

“Oh, I won’t,” Zelda replied. Gertrude experienced a brief moment of relief before Zelda continued. “Rather, I’m taking it upon myself to call your mother and inform her of this grave infraction personally, Gertrude Miller.”

She broke her stare-off with the girl to look at the rest of the posse. “That goes for the lot of you,” she announced. “Wait in the hall or there will be more dire consequences in your future, I can assure you.”

The ominous threat was enough to get them to obey, and they wordlessly began to filter outside the bathroom.

“As for you, Rosalind Walker,” Zelda said, making Roz stop cold in her tracks. “I think you’d better stay here for a moment.”

Roz cringed but turned back around, leaning against the stationary part of a bathroom stall.

Zelda was annoyed, of course. Annoyed and furious. She already dealt with enough stupidity from her own flesh and blood—the last thing she needed was to witness it from anyone else.

But along with the irritation and rage, she felt astronomically more affected than she ever anticipated, much more disappointed than she had any right to be. Zelda had always thought Roz was all right as far as mortals went. Her father was a preacher for the false god, which was unforgivable, but Roz herself always seemed to have a decently good head on her shoulders. And, as much as she hated to admit it, she had always been a good friend to Sabrina. This—the fact she was hanging out with the girl who tortured her—was going to devastate her.

“I always thought you were a relatively bright girl, but this little incident has proven quite the opposite,” Zelda spat.

“It was stupid,” Roz shook her head. “I know it was stupid.”

“Are these your _friends_ now?” Zelda threw an arm out to gesture towards the door. “These imbeciles?”

“No,” Roz laughed humorlessly. “They’re not. I hardly even know them.”

Zelda crossed her arms. “Then I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

Roz took a deep breath. “I wanted to try it—to see what it was like. And I didn’t want to bring Sabrina or Susie into it and risk them getting into trouble.” Roz looked down at her hands. ”I doubt Sabrina would have gone along with it anyway. She’s smarter than that.”

Zelda rolled her eyes up to the ceiling, muttering to herself. “That remains to be seen.”

“I overheard Gertie talking about how she was going to steal a bottle of vodka from her parents’ liquor cabinet and sneak it into the dance, and I asked her if I could join. I wanted something easy,” Roz admitted. “An easy way to just...forget. For a while, at least.”

Zelda knitted her eyebrows, skeptical. “Forget what?” she asked brusquely. “The poor photo you took for school picture day? The time you tripped in the cafeteria? The fact that you didn’t make the cheerleading squad?”

“My grandma Walker is sick,” Roz said quietly. “She’s been sick for a long time, but she fell a couple months ago and took a turn for the worse last week and the doctor…” Roz’s throat got watery, her voice cracking. “The doctor’s said she might not make it. My parents work a lot, so we’ve always been close, and I can’t,” she sniffled. “I can’t lose her.”

Zelda softened her stance, uncrossing her arms. “Can’t you talk to your parents?” she asked more gently.

Roz shook her head. “She and my dad don’t get along. My dad is a reverend—he’s always saying she doesn’t have enough faith. I’m afraid he’d get mad if I brought her up, maybe tell me I can’t see her anymore.” Roz was crying in earnest now, her glasses smudging with tears and makeup. She reached her knuckles below them, wiping at her eyes.

Zelda closed the distance between them. “May I?” she asked, gingerly slipping the frames off her face. She took the glasses to the sink, running them under the water until they were clean. After, she reached into her clutch, pulling out a fresh handkerchief and drying the lenses.

She slid the glasses back onto Roz’s face, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. “I am truly sorry this is happening to you, Rosalind. To experience loss at any age, but especially so young, is a terrible tragedy. These are the times you must lean on your friends.”

Roz picked at a loose sparkle on the skirt of her dress. “I don’t want to bum them out.”

“Sabrina can handle it, of that I’m sure. She’s stronger than you think.” Zelda placed a finger under Roz’s chin, gently lifting it to make eye contact. “As are you,” she said firmly.

Roz gave her a small smile. “I hope so.” After a moment, she closed her eyes, shaking her head—the reality of the situation was interrupting her tiny moment of peace. “I’m such an idiot,” she lamented, gently tapping her head against the stall in frustration. “My parents are already stressed, and now they’re going to hear about this? They’re going to be livid.”

Zelda took a deep breath. Satan only knew how much brandy she downed the day of Edward’s funeral. Or after Sabrina had gone to bed the night after their first big fight. Heaven, even how much she relied on it to get through every Feast of Feasts. The holiday was a sacred tradition, of course, and being queen would have been a great honor, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t a certain level of anxiety involved in the days leading up to the lottery. As much as she disapproved of Roz’s actions, she’d be lying if she said she didn’t at least understand them.

“If this was truly an isolated incident, I don’t see why I would have to tell them,” Zelda said.

Roz’s eyes widened, not believing what she was hearing. “But the other girls-”

“You let me worry about the other girls,” Zelda said sternly, shooting a glare at the door. “For all they know, I could have already called your parents while you were in here. Or perhaps I tried and they didn’t answer. As you said, they’re busy people. Difficult to get ahold of.”

Roz’s face flooded with relief, her shoulders visibly relaxing. “Thank you, Ms. Spellman. You-”

“But,” Zelda held up a finger, cutting her off. “If I hear about this happening again the day before your 21st birthday, I assure you, you will not like what happens. I will not be made a fool, is that clear?”

“Yes,” Roz nodded eagerly. “You won’t. I promise.”

“Good,” Zelda said, raising her chin. “Go on outside, then.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Roz said, turning to walk out.

“Rosalind,” Zelda said right as she was pushing the door. Roz turned around, expectantly. “If you ever need someone a tad bit older and many eons wiser to talk to, you know where to find me.”

Roz smiled and nodded. “Thanks, Ms. Spellman,” she said earnestly before heading outside.

Zelda sighed, looking at the door. She figured she could leave the culprits out there for at least a few more minutes, anxiously awaiting their fates. She glanced over at the abandoned, half-full bottle of vodka sitting on the sink.

She couldn’t. Could she?

I mean, she could. But she shouldn’t. But then again, when had she let mortal etiquette rules dictate her life?

Screw it.

Zelda walked over to the sink, picking up the bottle. Suddenly she felt like she was back at the academy, having snuck in a potion she wasn’t mean to have. She glanced at the door one last time, making sure the coast was clear. She threw back a couple gulps of the truly appalling drink before fixing her lipstick in the mirror.

She was ready to call some parents.


	4. You Can't Be Entirely Stupid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zelda learns more about Sabrina’s life at school and single-handedly ends toxic masculinity.

Zelda Spellman suddenly remembered why she normally refused anything but top-shelf liquor. Unlike the delicious, complex bitterness of her gin, the vodka she’d confiscated was an absolute atrocity in any realm. The artificial marshmallow flavoring left an aggressive, sickly-sweet aftertaste on the back of her tongue.

At least it would make the rest of the night a bit more bearable. Calling those awful girls’ parents helped lift her mood, too, delighting her the way only vengeance could. After she had played the role of disappointed chaperone and bid good riddance to the dreadful posse, she found herself wandering the halls. She couldn’t yet force herself to return to the toxic wasteland of the gymnasium, and nobody seemed to be missing her yet.

Zelda walked past the rows of rusty lockers, some plastered with colorful stickers, some etched with profane graffiti. One decoration in particular caught her eye: a baby blue piece of paper covered with snowflake confetti and messy handwriting that read, “Have A Ball With Me?” Slightly-deflated balloons and streamers hung beside it, and the bottom of the page was signed “Harvey K.”

It was strange to think about how much time Sabrina spent next to this little cubby, even stranger to think Zelda had never seen it before.

Zelda wandered, floating into the yearbook room. Her eye landed on a display of photos tacked onto a corkboard in the corner. She immediately spotted one of Sabrina, her arms flung around Roz and Susie. The three were wearing jerseys, dirt smeared on their faces as they posed in front of a soccer goal.

Maybe it was the alcohol, but Zelda suddenly felt sentimental. For the tiniest instant, it clicked. For a flash of a moment, she could understand why Sabrina liked it here. She was surrounded by people that seemed to truly love her.

Zelda felt a simultaneous pang of happiness and wave of despair wash over her. Of course she wanted her niece to be adored. She deserved nothing less, after all. But Sabrina was going to have to leave it all behind someday—someday not far off, despite what Hilda kept saying. Three years was nothing, and they’d pass by in the blink of an eye.

A seedling of fear also settled in the pit of Zelda’s stomach. Sabrina had made her own family within the walls of Baxter High. She didn’t even want to entertain the thought, but there was a chance—a minuscule chance—that Sabrina would choose the mortal world. That Zelda would lose her forever.

Yes, it was true that they were still blood-related, but Zelda wasn’t her parent. Zelda wasn’t her mother. And perhaps she wouldn’t be strong enough to persuade Sabrina. Perhaps she wouldn’t be enough of a reason for Sabrina to choose the Path of Night.

Zelda shook her head, chastising herself. She couldn’t let these thoughts consume her. The more she doubted herself, the less effective she would be in guiding and teaching Sabrina the correct ways. She couldn't let her apprehension distract her from her purpose.

Zelda quickly left the yearbook room, moseying inside a more traditional classroom. The nameplate on the desk read “Mrs. Moby: English.” Admittedly, she only vaguely paid attention when the conversation drifted to school at the dinner table, finding more value in the world news her paper provided than a recitation of junior high lunchtime gossip, but she did recall Sabrina mentioning liking this class. From the looks of it, they had just gotten finished with a unit on heroes and heroines in traditional novels.

She walked over to a wall where several rows of cut-out people had been accessorized with arts and crafts supplies. “My Nonfiction Hero Is…” was spelled out in shiny bubble letters towards the ceiling. They seemed to be in alphabetical order by students’ last names, and her eyes scanned down until they reached near the bottom. She tried to think of who Sabrina could have picked. A strong woman, no doubt, who had fought for some cause or another. Susan B. Anthony? Joan of Arc? Katharine Hepburn?

She took in a breath when she saw Sabrina had decorated hers with red yarn hair and colored a dark purple suit with colored pencils. The index card at the right gave a small description. “My Aunt Zelda. Three heroic qualities she has are strength, intelligence, and perseverance. The most heroic thing she has done is taking care of me no matter what.”

Zelda reached a hand out, gingerly running her pointer finger over the gold buttons Sabrina had drawn.

“Zelds?” Zelda jumped, not expecting her moment to be interrupted. “What are you doing in here?”

Zelda whipped her head around, collecting her features into an irritated scowl upon seeing her sister.

“Hilda, where in Satan’s name have you been?”

“I was just attending to some business out-”

Zelda stood up straight, walking past Hilda to the hallway, bumping her shoulder on the way out. “Never mind that. We’d better get back inside else they force us into another one of these.”

“Aye, yes, good thinking,” Hilda agreed, heading in the direction of the dance.

Zelda stood still, hesitating. “I’ll join you in a moment.”

Hilda wrinkled an eyebrow. “Is everything all right?”

Zelda scoffed. “You think I can’t handle being in a mortal school?”

“No,” Hilda said quickly. “You just seem-”

“I’m just headed to the washroom,” Zelda said harshly. “Go attend to the nitwits.”

Hilda nodded, knowing it was best not to pry.

Zelda turned on her heel, walking in the opposite direction. She just needed a moment to compose herself. Zelda didn’t often let her emotions overtake her, and it was rarer still that she’d let others notice if they did. There was no way she was about to let a few hundred thirteen-year-olds see her tear up over a school project.

She walked back past the yearbook and English classrooms, peeking into the bathroom to make sure another round of phone calls wasn’t in order. She crossed into the other end of the hallway—one that was filled with more maintenance and office spaces.

Suddenly, the sound of heavy panting began to mingle with the faint music. Zelda squinted her eyes, slowly edging toward the end of the hallway. She kept her ears peeled, finally determining that the noise was most likely coming from behind a door marked “Janitor’s Closet.”

She clenched her fist. These kids had some nerve testing their luck and her patience like this. She put her hand on the doorknob, ripping it open.

She discovered just as she expected: two students too close for comfort in the preliminary stages of undress.

When it registered that the boy who had a few of his shirt buttons undone was the Kinkle boy, however, and it was a girl with a blonde bob who hovered above him, annoyance magnified to rage.

“Sabrina Spellman,” she bellowed, her voice causing the metal shelves stocked with extra soap and empty buckets to quiver.

Sabrina swiveled around, her expression catching Zelda off guard. Instead of embarrassment or fear occupying her features, Sabrina looked overwhelmed and somewhat relieved. “Auntie Zee,” she breathed. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

Zelda remained planted in the doorway, arms crossed. “Are you now?”

Sabrina jumped up, running over to join her aunt. “Someone spilled punch and we were looking for a mop and somehow the door closed and we got locked in here and-” she rambled.

Zelda held up a palm. “Slow down.”

Sabrina bit her lip. “Something’s wrong with Harvey,” she said simply, her eyes filling with tears.

“What happened?”

“I don’t know,” Sabrina admitted, her voice cracking. “He said he doesn’t like being trapped in small spaces.”

Zelda glanced over at the boy, who was clearly in bad shape. He was curled up against the wall, sweat dripping off of him, struggling to catch his breath. As much as she wanted to comfort her niece, even she had her limitations on what all she could handle at once.

“Go fetch a cold towel and your Aunt Hilda,” Zelda commanded.

She couldn’t blame Sabrina for being upset, but she knew her anxious presence—as well-meaning as it was—would likely only stress Harvey out more.

“But I want to help-”

“Now, Sabrina,” Zelda said sternly.

Sabrina glanced back at Harvey once more before relenting, briskly walking outside.

Zelda Spellman may have been a hard woman, and she may not have particularly cared for the Kinkle boy, but she wasn’t cruel, and she wouldn’t stand by and watch a child suffer so. She gracefully knelt to the ground, putting herself directly into Harvey’s line of vision.

“Harvey Kinkle—this is Zelda Spellman. Listen to me. I want you to list five things you can see right now.”

Harvey looked at her, terror in his eyes. “What?”

“Five things you can see,” Zelda repeated with authority. Unlike most times she spoke, however, her tone was free of impatience or sharpness.

It did the trick, and Harvey complied. “Paper towel,” he began slowly, eyes darting around the closet. “Tile. Um, bricks. Shelves. Soap.”

“That’s right,” Zelda said approvingly. “Four things you can touch.”

Harvey’s fingernails clawed at the ground, desperately searching. “Uh, the tile again. My jacket.” He reached his hand behind him. “The wall. The mop.”

“Three you can hear.”

Harvey closed his eyes, focusing. “The air conditioner. The pipes. The music.”

“Two you can smell.”

He breathed in, his inhalations slower, more even than they had been when Zelda had entered. “Windex. Your perfume.”

“And one thing you can taste.”

Harvey paused, licking his lips. “Sweat.”

“Good. That’s a good job. I expect the worst is nearly over now. Focus on your breaths. Time them with mine,” she said, breathing in deeply.

Once the bulk of the attack seemed to have passed, Zelda shifted so she was sitting next to Harvey with her back against the wall. “These episodes—do they happen often?”

Harvey kept his head down, staring at the dirty floor. He managed a small, defeated shrug.

“That is not an answer,” Zelda replied firmly.

Harvey glanced at her, calculating his chances of avoiding the conversation. Knowing at once she was indeed much more stubborn than he, he averted his gaze again. “I don’t know. Kinda, I guess. Usually my brother can help calm me down, but he’s been busy with school and work and stuff lately. One time it happened in front of my dad, and…” his voice trailed off.

“And?” she prompted again.

“And…” Harvey continued, selecting his words carefully. “And...he just...he didn’t understand.” There was clearly more to the story, but Zelda took mercy and let the particular details go.

“When did they begin?” she asked.

“The mines,” Harvey shuddered. He gathered the courage to look at her then as if he was letting her in on a secret. As if he was begging for someone, anyone, with any kind of power to believe him. “I _hate_ it down there,” he said with an amount of vitriol Zelda hadn’t known he was capable of. “But my dad says the Kinkle men are no pussies. That the Kinkle men are tough. That we have to be strong.”

Any other time, Zelda would have commented on the reprehensible sexism of his father’s language, lecture him about how most women had more fortitude in their little fingernail than most men did in their entire bodies.

But he looked so small, so broken. It was easy to forget he was just as young, just as naive and vulnerable as Sabrina was. She’d often worked him up in her mind to be a monster running to harm Sabrina—it had never occurred to her that perhaps he was running to Sabrina in order to escape monsters of his own.

Zelda lifted her hand, clenching her jaw when she saw Harvey lightly flinch at the action. The list of people on her mental revenge hit list was long—she was, after all, known to hold grudges for centuries—but Mr. Kinkle was quickly working his way to the top.

She gently wrapped an arm around Harvey's shoulders. “You don’t have to be strong for me.”

Sobs began to shake his body, and he began crying in earnest. Crying in a way that made it obvious to Zelda he had never been given permission to before. “I’m sorry,” he choked out, ashamed.

“Hush,” Zelda replied in a way that left no room for argument. She squeezed his arm, and he leaned a bit closer to her. “Never apologize unless you’ve done something to warrant it.”

After a moment, Harvey spoke quietly. “How did you know to do that?”

“Do what?”

“The five things. How did you know that would help?”

Zelda couldn’t tell him that she’d had practice. That months after Edward had died—when Sabrina was too young to remember—she herself had suffered from panic attacks almost daily. That she’d gone and researched and learned to deal with them herself, not wanting to burden anyone, not walking to appear weak, feeling just as humiliated as he did now. “I’m an educated woman,” she said simply.

Harvey nodded, seeming to buy it. “Sabrina always talks about how smart you are.” He smiled softly at the thought of her. “She’s a really great person.”

“She is the _greatest_ ,” Zelda corrected.

Harvey pulled away from her then, looking at her seriously. “I know that I’m not good enough for her,” he looked down at his ensemble, laughing humorlessly. “Look at me—I can’t even tie a tie right. Maybe my dad is right and I really am a screw up.”

Zelda reached out, buttoning his top two shirt buttons. “Well, Sabrina seems to like you, so you can’t be entirely stupid.”

“Yeah,” Harvey said dismissively. “Maybe.”

Zelda fiddled with his tie until it was perfectly situated before smoothing down the piece of hair that had been bothering her all night. “There,” she said, admiring her handiwork. “Now you look like a perfectly handsome gentleman.”

They heard two sets of frantic footsteps making their way down the hall, and they both turned to look at the door expectantly.

“Harvey!” Sabrina said, her face flushed from sprinting through the school. Just as Zelda had requested, she was clutching a wet paper towel in her hand and had Hilda following closely behind her.

“‘Brina,” Harvey replied, pushing himself off the floor.

Sabrina immediately flung her arms around him, holding on tight. “Are you okay?”

She let go, looking at him in concern and handing him the towel. 

Harvey graciously took it. “I’m okay.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” he promised. Zelda took the opportunity to stand as well, smoothing out her skirt.

“I was thinking, love, perhaps you’d like one of us to drive you home if you’re not much in the mood for celebrating,” Hilda told him. “It’d be no trouble.”

“No,” Harvey said, wiping the sweat off his forehead. “That’s okay.”

“I’ll go with you,” Sabrina assured him. “Really, I don’t mind leaving.”

“I want to stay,” Harvey said, taking one of her hands and giving it a squeeze. “I still have an hour to dance with you, and I don’t want to miss another second of it.”

Sabrina smiled, turning to her aunts. “We’re going to go back and-”

“Yes, yes, we both heard you. We were standing right here,” Zelda said.

Sabrina bit her lip, still holding onto Harvey’s hand. She led him out the door, practically skipping away. Harvey glanced back, shooting Zelda a thankful look.

Once the two were out of earshot, Hilda turned to look at her sister.

“That’s a nice thing you did, Zelda Spellman. Helping the Kinkle boy like that? A very kind thing.”

Zelda looked at her, halfheartedly rolling her eyes after a beat and exiting the closet as well. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thank you for all of your kind comments! Reading your lovely feedback makes my day, so if you have time to drop a little note with your thoughts, I’d be forever grateful! 
> 
> Shoutout to OMGitsgreen, who wrote a beautiful oneshot with some wonderful Zelda and Harvey moments called “Rose Petals and Candle Smoke.” It inspired parts of this, and you should absolutely read it. 
> 
> I hope to have the final part up within the next week or so. Thanks again for reading, and I hope you enjoyed!


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